I attended my family’s church one Sunday with my folks and typical of African parents, they insisted I should hang around after service and exchange pleasantries with members of the church.
One of our church elders approached us and enquired on what I do for a living. My parents vehemently spoke on how the unemployment market was giving me restless nights.
“Oh dear. You met me at the nick of time. I know a company that is hiring!” He consoled me.
He made a brief phone call to someone and an appointment was set up for me the following day.
By 10am Monday morning, I was knocking at the door of the Head of Marketing of bla bla Bla Company. Immediately she set her eyes on me, she readjusted her glasses. “Oh…I’m gobsmacked! Are you Rihanna’s biggest fan?” She was no doubt referring to my hair. I had coloured a few strands of my hair red. There was no way I was going to change my hairstyle to impress a stranger for a job I was not certain of considering my past experience, I was still hurting…
The interview session took twenty minutes. “Naijasinglegirl, I wish there were some other position that befits you but it’s a marketing job and I know you are way over qualified. Would you mind?” She said.
Whenever I hear the word marketing. My facial expression changes like President Goodluck. I requested for two days to give it a thought.
A night of my creditors chasing me in a horrifying dream was more than enough to make my decision. I was back in her office the following day.
She briefed me on the job details. “You are going to be a Chief Marketing Officer.” She announced.
Nice euphemism. Was I supposed to start twerking at the mention of the word Chief?
Three other ‘chiefs of marketing’ at the adjacent office gave me a quick glance through the thin glass.
According to her, I would be in the ‘field’ Tuesdays to Fridays. Dress code is strictly corporate attires. I will be paid commissions based on the number of customers I bring in. All expenses will be strictly from my own pockets. Every marketer must appear in a suit on Mondays for briefings.
I could not help but picture the images of those guys in oversized suits that usually hang on BRT buses or sit on the floor of these buses to save money. Yes! I’m talking about those men in suits that usually fight conductors for their twenty naira change. Sometimes they go as far as trekking from Ojulegba to Mile2.
Most of them are guys with good degrees but the labour market has not been fair to them. Their companies have reduced them to corporate mad men. I could not believe that was going to be my fate soon.
As I walked past the reception, a dashing looking man bumped into me and the following conversation ensued.
“I’m so sorry. Are you a new staff here?” he asked while he flashed me one of the most beautiful smiles I have seen.
“Yes” I replied shyly.
“What’s your name?”
“Nice meeting you Naijasinglegirl. I’m looking forward to…”
Before he could complete his sentence, my supposed boss suddenly emerged from her office clapping her hands in disgust.
“When I saw that bright red flame colour on your hair, I knew you were bad news. I gave you a job but you won’t rest till you take my husband.”
“I beg your pardon Ma???” I was shocked!
“Please just leave, go…leave my office, leave the job, and leave my husband…” She screamed.
Her toy husband made an attempt to pacify her but she was having none of that.
Last thing I ever want is to stem crisis into anyone’s marriage because of a worthless marketing job.
I hurriedly left her office and never looked back.